OLEKSANDR ANDRIIENKO is the only police officer on the national team. Originally from Avdiivka, he awaits the liberation of his city. He was injured in July 2023 in his home region, resulting in the loss of a leg. He loves his job and the legal aspects of it. He wants to prove to himself that he can still run, even with a prosthesis.
About himself. I’ve always been passionate about football and running. While I can’t run the same way anymore, even with a running prosthesis—it’s a completely different experience—I’m motivated to prove to myself that I can still do it. After my injury, especially during the toughest periods, I constantly had to remind myself that I’m capable of everything I used to do. Running is no different—I want to check that box and say, “I ran with a prosthesis.”
I’m not particularly stubborn by nature. I’ll put in a lot of effort, but if I realize something is truly unattainable, I can step back and let it go.
I have moments when I get irritable, and I’m not proud of that. It’s something I work on, but it often depends on my state of mind. That said, I’m not afraid to admit when I’m wrong and apologize.
Praise doesn’t mean much to me; what really matters is seeing results. Compliments actually make me feel a little awkward, as if I’m being praised like a kitten instead of an adult.
About Starting My Service. I graduated from the National Academy of Internal Affairs, specializing in Criminal Police—commonly known as “operatives.” However, I had the opportunity to choose my position and specifically asked to become an investigator. I was particularly interested in the legal side of the work. Plus, legal experience is officially recognized only in the investigative division of the National Police, though my decision wasn’t solely based on that.
From 2016 to 2020, I worked as an investigator in my hometown, Avdiivka, in the Donetsk region. Unlike in larger cities with separate departments, our team in Avdiivka handled a wide range of cases. I started with thefts and drug-related offenses but later moved on to more serious crimes, including homicides.
Since Avdiivka was located on the contact line, our work extended beyond the city to nearby villages. The area had a heavy military presence, so we frequently documented war crimes committed by Russia. These cases were classified as acts of terrorism, with criminal proceedings opened and transferred to the Security Service of Ukraine (SBU). In addition, we dealt with civilian and internal military cases. The workload was intense—we often worked non-stop. There were even arguments at home because I was rarely around, and night calls were common. Over time, though, my wife adjusted to the demands of my schedule.
In 2023, I rejoined the police force and successfully passed the selection process for the special operations unit of the assault brigade “Lyut” (Fury).
About the Full-Scale War. I was at home on February 24, 2022. For us in Avdiivka, the sound of explosions has been part of daily life since 2014. At 4 a.m., my supervisor called and asked, “Are you asleep?” At first, I didn’t understand what he meant by “the war has started”—for us, it had already been going on for years. But then he explained that Kramatorsk and the entire country were under attack. I had one hour to get to our station in Druzhkivka.
When I checked the internet, I realized how serious things were. I quickly moved my family to the Dnipropetrovsk region, completed my shift, and the next day went to join the Territorial Defense. Unfortunately, they told me there were no spots left, so I was temporarily assigned to the local police force instead.
For years, I never imagined the front line would move closer to us. Even when the full-scale invasion began, I was certain we’d be okay. Now, Avdiivka is under occupation, but many locals say that once it’s liberated, they’re willing to live in tents if that’s what it takes to rebuild the city.
My daughter recently started first grade in another city. I often ask her if she remembers Avdiivka. She says she does—she remembers her room and the toys she left behind and even worries about them. The playground, though, is only a faint memory.
About the Injury. In July last year, near Kurdiumivka, we were in a temporary shelter when a drone dropped a grenade. The space was cramped, and I was standing at the edge. The explosion happened right next to me. I was in shock and ran for a bit, though my ears were ringing. The guys managed to drag me into another shelter and applied tourniquets. Initially, I was screaming for them to finish me off, then telling them not to administer any painkillers. But soon, I was begging them to give me anything they could.
When the evacuation team arrived, they carried me to the vehicle under fire, risking their lives. I’ll be forever grateful to them for that.
Even the evacuation vehicle came under fire, and all I could think was, “Please let me survive.” From that moment, I knew I wanted to live—mainly because those guys risked everything to save me. I couldn’t let that sacrifice go to waste. When my wife arrived, she tried to reassure me, saying, “You can live with an injury like this, don’t focus on the negative.” But honestly, I wasn’t sure I could.
Both legs had tourniquets on for over six hours. One leg had to be amputated in Druzhkivka, and the other was uncertain. The doctors told me that if my left leg showed signs of recovery, they could save it. I immediately accepted the loss of my right leg and focused all my energy on keeping my left one.
I kept closing my eyes and imagining myself moving the toes on my left leg. But when I opened them, nothing moved. For over a week, I did this every morning, visualizing my toes moving. Then, one day, I felt a faint movement. The emotions I felt were indescribable. I believed in it, and they did save the leg. For me, it was proof of the power of thought.
By October, I was walking with crutches.
About the Invictus Games. Before my injury, I didn’t know much about the Invictus Games. However, in April of this year, I saw a post on social media about an upcoming camp and national competition in May. It felt like an opportunity to check off something for myself—prove that I could still do it. I was immediately interested in team sports like volleyball and basketball, but I had to choose three sports. I’d never tried archery before, so the chance to try something new and be surrounded by veterans in that environment played a big role in my decision.
Being part of this community, I feel an incredible support, and even dark humor doesn’t feel offensive. While I was going through the process of getting a prosthetic and recovering in the hospital and at home, I really missed being in an active, supportive veteran environment.
I shared with my wife how the atmosphere at the competition inspired me and helped me reach a place of emotional adjustment and athletic progress. I didn’t expect to make the team, but my wife always told me that she and our daughter believed in me.
About Support. The support I received after my injury was exactly what I needed. My wife was there with me all the time, and my comrades came to visit me. When I first called my wife to tell her, she cried. Our daughter asked what happened, and my wife said, “Daddy is sick.” To that, my daughter replied, “But when I’m sick, you don’t cry! Daddy will get better.”
When my wife arrived at the trauma unit, I felt uncomfortable about not having a leg. I even asked her to arrange the blanket in a shape of a leg.
I had tubes sticking out of me, and my daughter didn’t want to come too close. She said, “Dad, I love you so much, but I’m scared to come near you because I don’t want to hurt you.”
By October, when she realized I had lost my leg, she told me, “I know they’ll give you a new leg.” At first, she was afraid of the prosthesis and wouldn’t touch it, but over time, I allowed her to put stickers on it, and now she’s completely fine with it. Sometimes we joke around, or she’ll pat my prosthetic leg.
I was worried about taking her to school, not wanting her to be asked why her dad didn’t have a leg. It was a hot day, so I wore shorts, and everyone could see, but no one said anything. My daughter simply said, “Dad, I’m so proud of you!” The other kids call me “uncle robot,” which always makes me laugh.
I don’t seek special attention or thanks from society. To be honest, I’m not sure how to respond when people say, “Thank you.” It’s much easier to connect with others who are also on prostheses. In the early days, meeting someone who had gone through the same experience gave me reassurance. He told me he was walking, driving, and living a full life, which helped me believe that I would be okay too.
I also have a friend who plays football for Shakhtar using crutches. I joke with him that if I had both my legs, I wouldn’t have made it to Shakhtar!
Now, it’s important to me to be an example for others—visiting hospitals, talking to people, and showing them that recovery is possible. I know that seeing others who had faced similar struggles gave me hope, and I want to offer that same hope to others who’ve been injured.
Translated by Green Forest English School